


a thank you, a kiss

by LunchLich



Series: Alvis Trevelyan gets fucking bodied [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Boot Worship, Degradation, Dom The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), Dom/sub, Face Slapping, Hand Jobs, Human Furniture, Humiliation, Impact Play, Leather, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Size Difference, Size Kink, Spit Kink, Strength Kink, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:35:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27652826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunchLich/pseuds/LunchLich
Summary: In their daily lives, Bull calls him Boss. In either of their quarters, Bull calls him... Well, he calls him all sorts of nasty things.Bull helps Alvis Trevelyan de-stress with a scene.
Relationships: Implied The Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus/Inquisitor, Inquisitor/The Iron Bull (Dragon Age), The Iron Bull/Male Trevelyan (Dragon Age)
Series: Alvis Trevelyan gets fucking bodied [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2048279
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	a thank you, a kiss

In their daily lives, Bull calls him Boss. When they're on missions fighting Darkspawn and Venatori, when the Inquisitor passes through the Tavern to say hello to Bull, when they spar - Bull always calls him Boss. Treats him as a figure of authority just as everyone does.

On 'Guy's Nights', drinking with the Chargers or with Dorian, or on nights where Josephine financially ruins everyone in a few rounds of Wicked Grace, Bull calls him Alvis or Kadan. Both made his heart do funny things, the casual intimacy of them. Few people call Alvis by his given name, and 'Kadan' was reserved only for him and Dorian. And Krem, on occasion, if you could get Bull drunk and sappy enough. 

In either of their quarters, Bull calls him... Well, he calls him all sorts of nasty things, in both common tongue and Qunlat. Whore. Bitch. Princess, if Bull feels like being patronizing. Those were used far less frequently than Qunlat - something about it got Alvis' gears going, as embarrassing as it was to admit when they sat down and went over their wants and their limits. In turn, Bull had come up with some creative words to throw around, to see what would stick. It had taken some working, and some simplification of grammatical rules as Qunlat wasn't the most expansive language.

Eva. Basic, or of cheap quality. Good for berating him when he failed to follow orders or followed them poorly.

Dathrasi. An animal. Indulgent. Contextually, as an insult, Bull had told him it was comparable to calling someone a pig. It was a name he liked to hear with Bull's fingers tangled in his hair and his cock down his throat, or when he was bound into a compromising position with his ass on display.

And his favourite, one that had become more of a title than a degrading insult, was Bas; Thing. Without purpose. Given from a culture where your 'name' was a title, your title a reflection of what you are, that title being given to him for scenes... It set off all sorts of tingly feelings in his body.

It suits his needs perfectly. In a position where every action and every decision he made meant everything, it was a welcomed break to be treated as nothing, and a role he was happy to slip into when they were alone.

Alvis enjoys the role reversal. Bull had made the right call, had put his Ben-Hassrath training to good use when he suggested this as a 'need'. Being out of control for once, having someone else call the shots. The discussions that led to brought to light so many... Quirks, he wasn't aware that he had. Bull has a talent for coaxing all those hidden desires to the surface.

Which is how Alvis Trevelyan ends up in situations like this: Stripped, on his hands and knees while Bull uses his broad back as a table. A tray balanced on his shoulder blades, holding a damp rag and the waxy finish Bull uses to treat his leather armour. He keeps his head down and his elbows locked, straining to keep his back flat and to keep himself from shifting. Bull hums idly as the scrubs blood and gore from a fight from this morning away from his harness. He can hear each scrape of the cloth against leather and the change of texture when he starts cleaning an iron detail.

There was calm in this. No worries about the inquisition, no thoughts of war strategy or thinking about how the hell he was going to stop Corypheus. And right now? That was not his job to worry about. His full focus was kept on keeping the tray from falling and anticipating whatever commands would come next. The smell of leather and oil and the sound of The Iron Bull's voice keeps him away from the burdens of the world. 

Alvis isn't sure how long it is until the extra weight of Bull's harness is added to the small of his back. It's about as heavy as one would expect a piece of armour made for a Qunari to be. It makes him feel small beneath it, and he resists allowing his back to bow under its pressure. Knowing Bull wears this all day long and beyond that - can fight in it, it makes Alvis blush like a schoolboy.

"All done," When he starts toward the bed, Alvis doesn't dare follow until Bull snaps his fingers, calling him. The stone floor cools his palms and scuffs his knees as he slowly begins to crawl over. It's harder to move with the items on his back than he anticipated, but he manages with some patience. "There you go," The larger of the men chuckles and begins a slow circle around him, presumably appraising the warrior, though it feels more like a predator stalking its prey. 

Halfway through his assessment, he stops at his rear and brings his foot up to nudge Alvis' dick with the toe of his boot like one would nudge something gross on the ground. He chuckles when the Herald gasps and the tray teeters. "Don't let them fall." He warns. A dash of amusement in his tone says he doesn't believe he'll be able to keep this up. Alvis wants to prove him wrong.

The Qunari circles back around him, slow, making sure he can hear every footstep until he's standing before him once more. "How're you feeling?" He says as he crouches down, his voice lowered to the auditory equivalent of the smoothest whiskey, something that doesn't burn going down but leaves your stomach warm.

Alvis nods. When Bull continues to stare at him, waiting, he speaks. "Good. Very good." 

"What's your watchword?"

"Katoh."

"Perfect." Bull stands and retrieves a short ribbon from the bedside table before - rather roughly - pulling Alvis' hair up and tying it into a bun to keep strands from getting in his mouth and obscuring his vision. He's behind him again before Alvis can recover from having his hair tugged at. He finally realizes he never had a fighting chance at making a good table when Bull presses his boot against his perineum. When his foot slides down and puts more pressure on his balls, Alvis jolts, causing both the harness and the tray to clatter to the floor. 

"You had one job." He snarls. Bull is genuinely scary when he wants to play it mean. And yet, even as he flinches from being snapped at, Alvis wants.. more. It's a rush of adrenaline, and knowing that with one word Bull's expression would soften and his voice would turn to honey, made it all alright. "Up and on your knees, Bas." He speaks with an edge to his voice that wasn't present before, something that does, in fact, burn going down. But drunkens you like no other, goes right to your head and makes your cheeks glow red. 

"Yes, Sir." 

The Inquisitor does as he is told, only for this short time, he is not the Inquisitor. He is Bas. He is Bull's thing, a thing for him to play with. He brings himself up on his knees and clasps his hands behind his back. He keeps his head down until a large hand captures his jaw and forces him to look up. Bull's eye flickers between Alvis'. 

'Eye contact makes you easier to read,' He remembers being told during negotiations. 'And I like seeing how responsive you are,' He'd added with a laugh.

There's no fear in Alvis' eyes. Not real fear, enough to fit his role. The only real emotion was excitement, and when Bull found it he tightened his grip on his jaw, dug his nails into his skin. "What was your one command?"

"To not drop anything, Sir."

"And look a that." His head is jerked down to look at the harness on the ground. He feels like a scolded dog. "I just cleaned it, and you let it fall to the ground. 

"I didn't mean to."

"That doesn't fucking matter." Bull lets go of his face to strike his cheek and spit in his face. He's dizzy from the slap and the warmth it brings to his cheek when the half of the harness that had touched the floor is placed in front of his face. "Make it up to me and clean it."

He licks a stripe up the side of the pauldron. It didn't taste good by any means, of course it didn't. The fresh finishing coat, made of beeswax and animal fat, left a bad taste in his mouth. Bull's gaze burning through him and the growl in his throat when he looked up through his lashes to meet his eye kept him motivated, though. Once Bull was satisfied with his cleaning, he retracted the armour.

"On your stomach." He orders, then turns to place the harness somewhere else. Alvis doesn't wait to find out where nor does he care. He can't stretch himself out on the floor fast enough. It's so cold against his flushed body that he nearly flinches away from it.  
He waits, trying to keep as still as possible. He knows a punishment is coming, though he doesn't know what it will be. Iron Bull ran some ideas by him last night, made sure he was up to all of them, and decided that he'd pick in the moment. Make it a surprise to both of them. The anticipation is intoxicating. 

Finally, Bull comes back into view. He watches him kneel and reach under the bed, where most of their... Supplies have been hidden, from anyone who naively wanders up to speak to him. Though by now, most have learned their lesson the hard way and wait for Alvis to do his check-ins with everyone.

When Bull stands again, he sees the forked tail of a whip dragging along the floor, stops right next to where half of Alvis' face is pressed to the hard floor. He expects a crack and a sting when the whip leaves his view. But all he feels is leather caressing his ass, trailing down over the backs of his thighs and up to the small of his back. He recognizes it now as their dragon's tail whip, by the feel of the flat, rolled leather on his skin. The choice makes sense for the position. He lifts his ass wantonly and gets a gentle, chastising snap from the tip of the whip and a foot pressing down on his back. He tests it by trying to push himself up on his arms, only for Iron Bull to put more weight into pinning him, drawing out a moan from the smaller man.

Alvis is a Warrior. He is a fighter, he is skilled with both his sword and his shield and he knows this. He bares strong legs and stronger arms. His family had urged him to become a Templar, to use his strength to serve Andraste. 

So to have someone he trusts so dearly, be so undeniably stronger than he? Who could pin him with their boot, who could toss him around like a child's cloth doll? Who was so much bigger than he was? It made him feel small. And more importantly - safely small. Small in a way that felt good, and not scary, not a burden upon him that he felt helplessly crushed by. 

It was controlled. And he wanted Bull to take that control. He saw no purpose in using his strength to serve Andraste when what he truly desired was to surrender and service this big, painfully gorgeous Qunari.

"Ass down, ankles together. I want you to show your appreciation by thanking me and kissing my boot after each strike. I could be giving you much worse." 

Alvis shudders and raises his head to look up at him when he answers. Bull moves his foot from his back to push his head down instead. "Yes, Sir." He grunts out. He keeps his legs together and his hips pressed to the floor, accidentally rutting his cock against the rough surface. He hears the crack before he feels the impact, his muscles tensing to brace for it. The forked ends of the short whip leave a hot sting in their wake, like sparks dancing on his skin that leaves him wincing. 

"Bas," Iron Bull growls like a warning, and it startles Alvis back to his task rather than focusing on the pain. He cranes his neck to kiss the top of Bull's boot with a strained, "Thank you." 

"There you go." 

He swings the whip again, landing a blow to the sensitive skin where his ass meets his thighs. It causes the Inquisitor to reflexively buck his hips and squirm. "Thank you!" He shouts with another appreciative kiss. 

The leather grazes over the reddening skin caused by the first blow, all tingles and blood rising to the surface now. When the next strike lands, it's at the meatiest part of his back. Bull's aim is impeccable. He's had a lot of practice, knows how to throw just about any type of whip and how to avoid any lasting damage. His hits land just where they need to. This one, in particular, has tears forming in Alvis' eyes as he calls out this strike's 'thank you'. 

The next three land in quick succession over the curve of his ass. Three cracks in the air followed by three increasingly painful blows as the rich leather hits the same patch of skin. The prickling of his skin in their aftermath is enough to make the tears start spilling over, as embarrassing as it is. He can take a hell of a beating on the battlefield, and yet he is reduced to tears so quickly at the hands of the Qunari. He watches the first tear land on his partner's boot, watches it slide down the side of it before he kisses it away. "Thank you, thank you, thank you."

Across his back. Against his ass. Over his thighs. The next six follow that pattern, each one punctuated with a gentle caress from the broader section of the whip and Alvis' words of appreciation, followed by another blow. When the cycle starts anew and the strike comes down hard on his back, his skin burning, he knew he'd have to call 'katoh' after the next strike to his ass. He's able to press a sloppy kiss to Bull's boot and sob out another 'thank you', while he waits for a blow that doesn't come.

Instead, Bull crouches down beside him and pulls him up from beneath his arms, gets him up on his knees. He supports the weight of his body with an arm against his chest, Alvis too weak to fully hold himself like this. Pain and adrenaline left every muscle in his body feeling like the finest Orlesian pudding. 

The hand that isn't holding him up goes to jerk him off. Alvis bucks into his hand after having his cock trapped beneath his stomach and the hard stone floor, causing enough friction to keep him stimulated but not enough to push him over the edge. He's babbling something as Bull strokes him, although he's not sure what that something is, what he's trying to say. Nothing more important than how Bull's long fingers feel wrapped around him, his hand able to fully encompass his length as he pumps him. He could stroke him with two fingers and it would still be leagues beyond any hand jobs he'd received in the Free Marches. 

It doesn't take him long. He'd be embarrassed at how little time it took for his cock to be spurting over Bull's fingers if he wasn't so far gone, thoughts foggy and his body feeling boneless. He gave up on holding his head up as soon as he came and let his chin fall to his chest. 

His lover scoops him up with ease. He holds him close, Alvis' head lolling over to rest against his shoulder, to take in the smell of his natural musk that was only amplified by the effort of throwing the whip. A smile tugs at his lips. 

Bull places him on the bed, the softness of it a welcome contrast to the hard floor. He lets his eyes close, but he can hear Bull beside him. After a few moments, a warm cloth is pressed to his face, gently swiping across the skin. He' knows he looks a mess, with sweat, spit, and tear streaks down his cheeks. He's sure there's dirt from the floor and smears from the hint of makeup he wears on his lower lashes. But it doesn't matter - because Bull cleans him up, and swipes the last of his tears away with the pad of his thumb. 

"You with me, Kadan?"

"Hhnmn...." It's meant to sound affirmative, but when there's no response from his partner, he nods to clarify. 

"Good. Here," Alvis peeks his eyes open to see Bull offering a chalice of water they'd prepared before the start of the scene. Andraste, they were smart. Bull cradles the back of his head and tilts the cup for him so that he can drink, kisses his forehead when he finishes. 

"Thank you." Alvis manages. Everything starts to come into focus again, his thoughts far less fuzzy and the pain fading to an ache he finds pleasant and familiar. 

"Of course." He moved Alvis to sit, his arm over his chest to support him again. "Let me check your back, and then I can hold you. How do you feel about that?"

"That sounds fantastic," He says. Bull's fingers lightly trace the red marks across his broad back, making sure that his aim had been as precise as usual. When he was satisfied with his look-over, he lowers Alvis back to the comfort of the pillows and climbs in beside him.

Bull lets his hair down, dark red locks falling to the pillow and over the nape of his neck for Bull to play with when he pulls him in against his chest. They lay like this for a few minutes, the Qunari's dull claws scratching at Alvis' scalp and combing through his hair, while the human catches his breath and lets all of his emotions level. When he feels as if he's had enough time to process, he speaks. 

"That was a phenomenal scene. Thank you, Bull."

"Hey, there you are." He chuckles. "I didn't give it to you too hard, did I?"

"Your swings were a little weak this time, actually." Alvis' comment earns him a swat to the abused skin of his ass. Bull laughs when he sucks in a sharp breath. "Joking, joking."

"You better be. You'll probably have a few pretty marks that I'm sure Dorian will appreciate." He runs his hand over his buttocks, calloused skin slowly soothing over his flesh and giving it a playful squeeze after a minute. "Seriously, though. You're usually reaching your limit when you start crying like that. Are you alright?"

"I think I'd forgotten how bad the sting was on that whip and wasn't prepared for it, or I had a rougher morning than I thought. I'm perfectly fine, Bull." He smiles and reaches a hand up to cup Bull's cheek. "I would have called the watchword if you kept going, but you timed it perfectly. You know my limits well." 

"You did so well," Bull murmurs lowly, kissing Alvis' palm. 

It makes the Inquisitor melt. Being roughed up and manhandled made the cuddling that came after even sweeter. When his body felt like it was floating, his muscles sore but completely relaxed, the pain of the day washed away and replaced with a beautiful, loving, welcomed hurt.

**Author's Note:**

> and thats on discovering the upper floor as my introduction to porn and sex


End file.
